Those Haunts That Linger
by bluebunny28
Summary: Sequel/Companion Piece to "Past Haunts"! (read that first) Warnings: descriptions (non graphic) of child abuse (physical and sexual), possible triggers! Frank was gone. Neal had a family again. Everything was perfect. Well, that's what Neal told people. But what would a family be, if they didn't notice when one of them was hurting?
1. Chapter 1

Those Haunts That Linger: Chapter 1

**Hello out there to all of my lovely, patient, beautiful readers! XD I have missed you, my WC fans! As promised, here is the sequel to Past Haunts (If you have not read it, this will not make much sense. So be sensible! Read the 1st story!). This will be another multi-chap fic. If you can not handle the angst to come, leave now or forever hold your peace. -_-**

**WARNINGS: Ok. Cool. So, this is currently rated T. I plan to keep it that way, but if I think that what I am writing is getting a little too...not appropriate I will update the rating to M. I do not do seriously graphic detail of abuse (sexual), but I do get a little heavy on the physical and verbal. I warned in the summary for triggers, so please do not get on me because you didn't read the warnings.**

**Don't let anyone be the victim of abuse! It is a horrible thing that has become a part of our world! If you know someone or you yourself are being abused in any way, get help.**

**Now, please enjoy.**

**Everything's Fine...Really**

Neal leaned back in his chair with a smile. He had missed the office, his desk, even the crappy coffee, though he would never admit any of that to anyone. Well, except the Burkes. In fact, they knew how excited Neal was to be getting back to work after everything that had happened with Frank.

There were times when Neal questioned whether he really was ready, but being back solidified his confidence. He could do this. After two grueling weeks in the hospital (due to complete exhaustion, pain and immense boredom) and three more weeks of 'resting' and 'relaxing' with the Burkes, the con was eager to get back to work, even if that meant mortgage fraud cases. Even the large pile of those very same detested files that waited on his desk could not bring down his good mood. He finally felt like Neal Caffrey again, confident and suave con man extraordinaire. His walls that had been under construction for the past few weeks were finally finished. Neal was back to his old self. Everything was perfect.

Peter watched his son from his office and sighed. Something was very wrong. Peter was glad that Neal could finally escape the hospital and the boredom he knew the younger man was facing, but he had been chasing the man and working with him for years now. He knew when there was something off about Caffrey. A member of his family was hurting, and he would not just stand by and see what happened. He would talk to El tonight. They had to do something.

* * *

The ex-criminal arrived exactly five minutes before he was expected, with a big smile on his face and a complimentary bottle of wine, as per usual. El had tried, unsuccessfully, to get Neal to break the habit as their wine shelf was getting rather full, but he insisted it was the least he could do with all of the free meals they were plying him with. As he entered, he shot a glance at the Degas hanging in its recently acquired wall space. With the last undercover op becoming null and void, El had an idea with what to do with his forgery. She said she would have hated seeing it gather dust in a warehouse, or as Peter suggested, changing hands in a back alley somewhere. So, El had hung it up for anyone to see, after Peter tripled checked with Hughes that this was 'okay'. It made Neal smile and chuckle at the analogy of a mom hanging her child's crayon sketch on the fridge.

Eventually, Neal made it in the kitchen to help make dinner. It was odd. Not too long ago, he would have been having some fancy take out, all alone in his apartment, wondering if that was what a normal life was like. But soon after the Frank fiasco, the Burke's convinced him to spend most nights having dinner with them. He still lived at June's, but the Burke's house had very quickly become a second home for him.

The con finished 'properly tossing' the salad, just because he knew it bugged Peter, and then checked on how El's stew was coming. Elizabeth had taken to making 'homey' meals as of late. Most would say it was nothing compared to the fancy dishes she used to prepare, but to Neal and Peter it was perfect. When El wasn't looking, Neal stuck his finger in the stew. When El turned back round, the con had said finger in his mouth and moaned. She grabbed the closest towel and wacked him with it.

"That's it, Mister. Any more of that, and I won't let you back in the kitchen." Neal just flashed her a completely false, yet adorable, 'innocent' smile. He even threw in the puppy dog eyes for bonus points.

"But, El! You're cooking is just too good! How can a poor guy like me resist?" Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but the fond smile on her face nullified the effort. It was moments like that, that made El think for a moment that everything was okay. One glance at Neal when he thought no one was looking though, and those thoughts went out the window.

There was no question that what happened with Frank left some new scars on Neal, mentally, physically, and emotionally. But it had also drudged up everything that Neal had shoved off into a corner and tried so desperately to forget about.

They settled at the dinner table. Peter and El sat across from each other, while Neal sat between them at the table's end. 'Family Dinner' had become a regular thing at the Burke's house, and they all rather enjoyed it. Lately though, Neal had begun to revert to a combination of his former con self, which he showed the most such as during work, and the man he showed to the Burkes during the whole Frank situation. The quiet, almost shy, sensitive young man. For a while, he was completely relaxed and comfortable around his 'parents', but they had begun to see more and more changes.

He was more guarded than before, going so far as to refusing to admit that he was still in pain from some of his injuries. It was discovered that the ankle bearing Neal's special government trade jewelry was twisted. Neal apparently forgot to mention that Frank had tried to rip it off of him that first night, intending to just take Neal with him. In the hospital, he sheepishly said he didn't want to worry them any more than they already were. El and Peter's equally fierce glares deftly informed him that he would not be making such a mistake again.

Neal was being... Neal. And that was the problem. He was pulling into himself and away from those that cared about him. There were things in his past that needed to be dealt with before he could begin to heal from the much more recent hurts. Elizabeth met her husband's eyes across the table, and knew that he shared her thoughts. Peter decided to be the one to broach the subject.

"Neal, how have you been doing lately? Sleeping well?" Neal shrugged into his stew and gave a noncommital sort of grunt.

"Not bad. I get home and collapse. Who knew mortgage fraud could tire someone out so much?" His tone came off as light and carefree, but the bags under his eyes contradicted every word that fell from his lips. Neal tried to ease their concerns. He knew he wasn't sleeping well, but they already worried about him way too much. He didn't need to keep tacking things on to their list to watch out for. But from the look they were giving him, they didn't buy it.

"Neal," El started. "You know you can talk to us about anything, right?" Neal's brown curls bounced as he brought his head up, brows furrowed, confused expression on his face.

"Of course I know that. I trust you guys. Do _you_ know _that_?" His tone bordered on snarky. _Can't they see that I trust them with my life? I just don't need to make myself a bigger burden than I have to be_. Peter dropped his fork on the table. He was starting to get frustrated. Emotions and delicate things really weren't his thing, leading to him being not so delicate in certain situations; and the past few had just been wearing on him more and more. El caught the small flinch Neal gave at the sound that Peter didn't.

"Neal, please just stop. We can tell you're not opening up. You can't just pretend like nothing happened. Something _did_ happen, and we need to deal with it!" Peter's voice had risen through his little tirade, while Neal's fear caused him to lash out.

"Aren't _you_ the one who always tells me to 'cowboy up'? And what? I do that _now_, and it's not okay? What do you want from me?! The FBI shrink cleared me for work; isn't that enough for you? It's over. I've dealt with it. It's done." Neal couldn't breathe. He had to get out of the confined space the house now took on. It was suffocating him. He didn't hear the concerned calls or Satchmo's whimpers as he quickly left, front door hanging open carelessly.

Elizabeth glared at her husband from across the table. He looked too tired to show guilt, more he seemed exhausted and at his wits end. But still.

"Peter Burke." Said agent sighed heavily and dropped his head into his hands.

"I know. I know. I shouldn't have snapped at him like I did. But, Hon- he's- he- our son won't let anyone help him. Neal isn't even acknowledging to himself that not everything is perfect rainbows and sunshine. I've been trying to subtly help him out when we're at work, but- Oh! You know how I am with this stuff. I don't know how to help him, and it's driving me insane." El's harsh expression softened, and she laid a hand against one of her husband's outstretched ones. Her thumb ran back and forth across the ridges and lines that she had memorized long ago.

"I know. But you did so well with Neal when all of this was _happening_. What's different then, than now?" Peter turned his palm up to capture El's fingers.

"Well, then he wasn't trying to hide anything that he was feeling. It was like he was a completely different person that trusted me completely. Neal left everything out in the open for me to scoop back together. Now, he's thrown so many of his old walls back up. I know he's hurting, but he won't let me in at all. It's like he's hiding from us." His gaze stayed locked on their joined hands. His next few words were so quiet, El would have surely missed them if the whole house wasn't tensed in silence. "What do we do?"

She had been waiting for this moment. She hadn't wanted it to come to this, but she always knew it was a strong possibility. El tightened her grip on Peter's hand and caught his eyes with a sad smile.

"We do this _together_. But...we are going to need some help." Peter looked up fully then, brow raised in question.

"Do you remember my friend Sally from college?" Then both of Peter's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh."

* * *

**So...what do you think? Pretty pwease tell me? There will be an OFC, as I'm sure no one knows who 'Sally' is. Hope this doesn't turn anyone away. She isn't a ****_main_**** character per se, but she is pretty key. So please, DON'T WRITE HER OFF IMMEDIATELY!**

**I have another little WC prompt from a while ago that I am working on. I hope to get it out soon. Has nothing to do with this mini series thing I've got going on, but plenty of angst and family time. Check for it on my profile. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

Those Haunts That Linger: Chapter 2

**Again, this directly follows my first story, "Past Haunts". You really have to read that first! So please do, then come straight back here! :) I'm warning you now, this chapter is kinda gory and there's a whole mountain of angst. I hope it is to your liking. :)**

**WARNINGS: Ok. Cool. So, this is currently rated T. I plan to keep it that way, but if I think that what I am writing is getting a little too...not appropriate I will update the rating to M. I do not do seriously graphic detail of abuse (sexual), but I do get a little heavy on the physical and verbal. I warned in the summary for triggers, so please do not get on me because you didn't read the warnings.**

**Don't let anyone be the victim of abuse! It is a horrible thing that has become a part of our world! If you know someone or you yourself are being abused in any way, get help.**

**PS! I don't own anything other than the plot! This is meant for reading not suing!**

**Now, please enjoy.**

**A Great Deal of Anxiety and Self-Detriment**

Neal was frustrated. He ran. He didn't even calmly excuse himself; he had run like a little kid throwing a tantrum. What was worse was when he thought about it, that is what he saw it as. He wasn't acting like a grown man, but a hormonal teenager who couldn't get a hold of himself. As soon as he entered June's house, the con ran up the stairs, slammed the door to his apartment, and fell heavily onto the edge of his bed. One of his hands tangled in his hair and tugged sharply.

"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Such a little kid. Worthless. Stupid. _Weak_. Flipping out over nothing. Stupid. Stupid." Neal stopped his tirade at the harsh sound of his phone ringing. Caller ID showed that it was Peter. Neal couldn't stop the embarrassment and shame that bubbled up when his mind wandered back to his little outburst. But he figured he should probably answer the call and apologize for storming out earlier. He was sure he had worried his pseudo-parents, and that was never his intention.

"Hey, Peter." Quiet answered him for a moment, leaving Neal only with soft breathing to tell him someone was actually on the other end.

"Hey, Neal. Look, I've called Hughes." Those three words set Neal on his feet and on edge.

"What?! Why?! Look, I'm sorry for earlier, and-"

"Neal, breathe." The young man didn't even notice until he paused that his chest was rising and falling at an alarming rate. Just the briefest of thoughts that he might go back to prison was like dangling off the edge of a balcony twenty stories up. And Neal knew from experience just how nerve wracking that is.

"I just asked him to give us the next two weeks off. We need to sort some things out. The three of us. As a family." Neal really couldn't think of what the heck they would need to sort out, and said as much. Peter sighed.

"That's one thing that's a problem, Neal. The fact that you cannot see that there is one. Will you just trust us on this and drop by tomorrow?" The young man took a few deep breaths. He had a really bad feeling about all of this. His family thought something was wrong, but he couldn't see anything. Maybe it was how much of a burden he was being. He also acted very childish a little bit ago. Perhaps they wanted to talk to Neal about acting his age? Whatever it was, though, despite how nervous he was about... whatever it was, he didn't want to let his parents down.

"Alright. When should I come by?" Peter told him to come by for breakfast, and then they would tell him what was up. They had an awkward exchange of goodbyes and goodnights before they both hung up. Neal slowly sunk down onto the edge of his bed, letting out a deep breath like a balloon. Obviously his family thought something was wrong, but for the life of him, he couldn't see it.

* * *

Neal settled into bed around midnight. He wanted to be good and exhausted before he attempted sleep, so as to hopefully make it a dreamless one. The con wasn't lying when he said his sleep was 'not bad', because it could be worse. He could only get three hours of sleep instead of his four. The main reason behind his purple shadows was the nightmares. They woke him up, drenched in sweat and heart racing. He could never get settled after one and always ended up going for a jog or _trying_ to paint something of his own. Originality wasn't exactly his thing. But as he let his body seep into the mattress, he felt the weight of his emotional outbursts from the day pull him away from the conscious world, and into his own personal hell.

_It was dark , of course. He was having a nightmare; why should he be allowed to see a way out? _

_"Matty! Get out here!" He whipped around, the voice having come from behind him. His response was immediate._

_"Coming, Sir." Neal walked toward the voice, not even thinking. But that's how it is in dreams, right? Nothing and everything made sense all at the same time. That's why Neal could never analyze his dreams too much. It made his head spin every time. _

_He walked farther into the darkness, apparently knowing exactly where he was going. So, needless to say, he wasn't surprised when he was suddenly in a room that looked remarkably like the Burkes's kitchen. The sight before him brought him to his knees. Peter and El were laying in pools of their mixed blood, eyes open and accusing, fingers laced tightly together. Neal slowly crawled to them, tears blinding him. As he reached out a hand to touch El's face, a heavy boot came down on it, snapping his fingers. _

_He cried out even though he knew no one would be able to hear him. _

_"Don't waste your breath, Matty. They're not worth it. And why are you crying for them anyway? You wanted me to do this." The words were like a dagger to his heart. No. He didn't. He would never- No! Neal couldn't breathe. He clutched at his chest, trying with all of his might to rip it open so he could get at the offending shards from his broken heart. His blunt nails were making no head way, despite all of the blood that welled up beneath them. Neal was startled out of his actions by two larger hands taking command of his own._

_"Oh, Matty. Now look what you've done. You can't ruin the merchandise. We'll have to cover these up again. Bryan doesn't like you all marked up." A hand ran down his chest, smearing his life blood into dirty, filthy streaks. Then twin eyes to his own looked at the tears still streaming down his face. Frank sighed and wiped them away, his hands gentler than they had ever been. _

_"Matty, you don't have to be afraid anymore. I took care of them, just like you asked me too. Now we can stay together forever. Just you and me." That hand again took a course south, through the blood and stopped right over his heart. Frank leaned in real close, placing his face adjacent to Neal's ear. But Frank's voice didn't come. Peter's did, from Frank's mouth._

_"This is all your fault! How could we have ever trusted you? You are nothing but a criminal. Con Artist. Unworthy. Filthy. Trash. Slut. Nothing. You. Are. Nothing. You killed us!" Neal screamed as a knife was pushed right through his chest from behind. Mozzie brought his face around to smile sickeningly at his 'friend'. _

_"Are you happy now, Neal? Is it the family you've always wanted?" It was too much. He couldn't take it. It just hurt so much!_

Thankfully, his brain thought the same thing and without warning, he was flung back into reality. It was a rough landing. He shot up in bed, making his head spin, covered in a layer of cold sweat and unable to keep his dinner down. Neal barely made it to the toilet in time. Sounds of retching echoed around the apartment. It took thirty minutes for him to completely calm down and breathe through his cramping stomach. Then he checked his clock. It said it was four in the morning.

"New record," he grumbled. Neal struggled to get off of his aching knees, and once he did, grabbed a towel to soak in cold water and wrap around his neck for just these occasions. If he was being honest with himself, this happened too many times (read: almost every night). But he's a con man. Lying is what they do best, especially to themselves.

His breathing slowed, though it was still shaky, and he went back to sit in his bed for a few more hours til he had to leave. Neal kept a sketch pad on his night stand for times like this. In it were a dozen or so drawings of his nightmares. All of different scenes, but all ending the same...with his head down the toilet and his blankets covered in sweat. He grabbed his pencil and flipped open a clean page. The last one held a picture of Neal, kneeling in a pool of his own blood looking up as if begging someone for something. Neal still remembered that one vividly. Peter was above him, and Neal was begging for forgiveness...and death. That had been the worst up to that point. Tonight's, though, just might take the cake.

Neal's alarm went off, knocking him out of his little world. His clock read seven thirty. He looked back down at the paper in his hands and nearly started to retch again. It was Peter and El, dead, but unlike in the dream; they were staring up at him disgust and rage in their eyes. Their fingers weren't laced together, but were raised and pointing right at Neal. Accusing. Blaming. Condemning.

Neal's sketch pad met the wall opposite with a hardly satisfying thud. He watched as the pages landed, free ones flying off into difficult to reach places, and others bending at the corners they had landed on. His hands ran rough and hard down his face, pulling loose skin and stretching it out. His head was pounding from all of the nights of little sleep piling on top of each other. Maybe he should get Mozzie to pick him up a sleep aid on the side. Like the FBI wouldn't jump right on him if he went to a pharmacy. Neal really wasn't up for 20 questions over NyQuil.

The alarm from his clock made him jump, pushing a hand over his pounding and jittery heart. He glared at the evil contraption as it continued to taunt and tease him with false bee noises.

"Oh, Shut up!" He yelled at it. It merely kept on buzzing. In the end Neal just shrugged it off, turned it off with maybe a little more force than was necessary and went to get ready. _Glaring at inanimate objects is fine. As long as they don't start talking back. Then we have some serious problems._ Yeah, if he started seeing the clock dancing or running around his bed, he was forcing Moz to get him that sleep aid.

* * *

**Thank you guys so much for the support! Hope this lives up to expectations, or at least on par with the last story. Also thanks to anyone who read "Winter Blues". I do enjoy taking prompts, and I don't bite, so don't be afraid to throw something out there for me to take a gander at. :) **

**Let me know what you think! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Those Haunts That Linger: Chapter 3

**I am liking the response I am getting to this. :) Well, I warn you now, it looks like this story is going to be pretty long. Longer than I first thought. Hope you guys don't mind. This is mainly drama, so don't expect a lot of action like the first one. This story is dealing with Neal's healing process, which is apparently a lot deeper and more complicated than I thought. Man, I messed him up a lot! But I love him, and he knows that. It's all good.**

**Enjoy. :)**

**WARNINGS: Please see chapters one and two for the warnings.**

**Don't let anyone be the victim of abuse! It is a horrible thing that has become a part of our world! If you know someone or you yourself are being abused in any way, get help.**

**PS! I don't own anything other than the plot! This is meant for reading not suing!**

**Challenge Accepted**

Peter was lying in bed, getting acquainted with his ceiling. It really was a nice ceiling. A little bland, shy, a good listener; everything you would expect from a perfectly good ceiling. But, Peter had been staring at it since four in the morning, and he was sick of its company. He glanced at the clock..._again_. It said that it was late enough for him to get out of bed. The stealthy agent crept out from under the covers and went downstairs to get the coffee started.

Satchmo looked up at him as he walked by. Peter paused and met the dog's brown eyes. The corner of his mouth was pulled up in a smile without his permission.

"Hey, Satch. You gonna help me out today with Neal?" The lab's head popped up and his ears perked up at the mention of Neal. Those two seemed to have a bond that no one else understood. It led to some adorable pictures on El's part. If Peter had to guess, it would be because Neal had never had a pet growing up and had always wanted a dog like most young boys. Satchmo likewise loved how Neal always took the time to pet him and play with him whenever he visited. They were inseparable. If Peter was still only Neal's friend and not pseudo parent, he would no doubt be jealous...of his dog.

That got Peter's head shaking and eyes rolling. _Jealous of my own dog? Really?_ But, it was a legitimate thought, and Peter acknowledged it and happily moved on. Peter and Neal were close. Father and son close. Though, lately, with all of the walls Neal was throwing back up, it seemed to be reverting back to 'kind of friends slash con and FBI agent'. Peter did _not_ want that, and neither did El. When he thought back to how his son reacted at dinner last night, he figured Neal probably didn't realize how much he was shutting them out, or at least, knew and was severely justifying it. Peter was betting on the latter.

The cloak declared it to be seven thirty. Neal was an early riser, and whenever he came over for breakfast in the mornings it was around eight thirty. Peter sighed. What was he going to do for an hour besides brooding? As the coffee brewed and his thoughts clouded over with what Neal's reactions might be, soft footsteps could be heard from upstairs getting ready to come down. Peter jumped when a hand was laid on his arm.

"Sweetie? Are you okay?" Peter gave his wife a small smile and pulled her in for a hug.

"I don't know. I didn't sleep last night. I guess I'm just... anxious. I mean, what if Neal totally hates the idea? This whole thing could potentially blow up in our faces." El nodded against his chest and rubbed his back with both hands.

"You're right. It could. But you and I both know that he needs help, and we can't give it to him. But we also can't just throw him into this without being there for him. He'll need us eventually, but right now, he needs someone else more. Who knows? Maybe you'll even learn how to deal with those big, scary things called emotions." El smiled good naturedly at him and then proceeded to pour them some morning energy. They were going to need a lot of it.

The couple sat on the couch together for a little while just enjoying being with each other. Everything was so tense lately, like you were walking in a mine field, but the person who planted it didn't know they were still live and dangerous. It was nice for moments of peace like these to just slip in and settle over them, even if just for a little while. Their moment was quickly shattered by a knock at the door. They shared a look, bracing themselves for what was to come, then Peter stood to answer the door. It made no noise as it opened.

"Hi, Neal. Come on in."

* * *

It took Neal a while to get ready and actually make himself step out of his apartment. He had a really bad feeling about all of it. His senses were on high alert like they are during a heist. Something about this seemed off, and he was pretty sure it had everything to do with what had happened at dinner the night before. His feet had brought him all the way to the Burke's house, without him even realizing it. He was surprised that the deep breathe he took to prepare himself shuddered in his chest. Maybe it had something to do with how hard his heart was hammering against his chest.

Neal rolled his eyes at himself. _Just freakin' knock already! It's not like you haven't done it a million times._ So he forced his feet a few steps farther until he was right up to the front door. He lifted his hand, lowered it midway, then shook his head and gave the door a sturdy knock. Neal nearly had a heart attack when Peter opened the door.

"Hi, Neal. Come on in."_ It's just one step! He's waiting! Now move your feet!_ Neal's body finally seemed to catch up with what his mind was screaming, and he made his way smoothly into the Burke's home. He shot Elizabeth a casual smile, one that tried to say, 'Everything's fine between us.' Neal ignored the false cheer in her smile and bent down to greet Satchmo so as to avoid their gazes. Peter's footsteps seemed to awkwardly creep forward toward the young man's back, and then pause, as if unsure how to proceed. Neither of the Burkes appeared to be starting soon, so Neal broke the ice for them.

"So, did you guys want to eat first and have the awkward conversation later, or get it all out now then push our food around our plates for a while?" El seemed to wake from a sort of trance, and startled before getting her smile back on.

"Oh, right! Breakfast. I was wondering if you wanted to help me make some pancakes? Banana. Your favorite." Behind Neal's eager smile was a train wreck of thoughts. _They must have something really hard to tell me, if they're trying to butter me up..._..

Before long, all three of them were covered head to toe in flour, and Satchmo had snuck away with a failure of a pancake flip. The foolery broke the tension that had threatened to kill this 'family meeting' before it even started. Peter breathed a sigh of relief when they finally settled at the kitchen table. Neal was grinning from ear to ear, still riding the high of a few minutes earlier. For the first time in a while, it was like they were whole again. Peter let that feeling wash over him as they finished breakfast. He could breathe easy; that is, until the doorbell rang.

Peter looked at El and saw the same apprehension he felt; Neal had tensed ever so slightly next to him. The agent stood, his chair scraping across the floor that merely put all of their nerves on even more of an edge.

"I'll get it." His footsteps echoed as he walked to the door. He almost paused to see if something was stuck to his socks, because he was pretty sure normal footsteps didn't sound as ominous as his did. It seemed like forever and a day before he reached the door; he took a short breath before he let go and opened it.

* * *

From his seat, Neal couldn't see who was at the door, but obviously Peter and Elizabeth were expecting...her? A subtly beautiful woman followed Peter into the kitchen area to make introductions. Neal had a _really_ bad feeling about this. His fight or flight instincts kicked in the moment the doorbell rang. And the fact that the woman in front of him looked like a prosecutor and was apparently trying very hard to stare into the depths of his soul didn't help much.

"Neal, this is Dr. Sally Jenkins. She's an old college buddy if mine." Elizabeth tried to sound casual as she said 'Dr. Sally Jenkins', but the situation was just too uncomfortable to do anything even remotely casual. Neal, meanwhile was having a staring contest with the 'doctor'. _A doctor? Why did they bring in a doctor?_ Suddenly, Ms. Jenkins shot a hand out. Neal flinched back at the sudden motion in his direction. He had to hide a blush when he realized the hand was just raised for a handshake. The doctor smiled gently at him.

"And _that_ is one of the answers to your question." That threw Neal through a loop; then it hit him. The doc was a shrink. Neal _hated_ shrinks. And apparently this one could read minds. Wonderful. He couldn't help the glare that pushed past his previously polite expression.

"You're a shrink?" Dr. Jenkins smiled at him in a way as if to say 'Challenge Accepted'. "In a way. I'm primarily a family therapist, but I have worked with many individuals of varying ages." Neal's brow furrowed at that first part. _Family_ therapist? He turned his blue eyes accusingly to El, who appeared to be as tight as a bow string.

"I take it this is what you wanted to talk to me about this morning? You've called in a shrink?" El didn't let the look phase her, and gave him a strong one right back.

"Yes it is, and yes I have. Neal we were all seriously affected by what happened a while ago, and none of us have completely moved past it." She held her hand up to stop him from saying what he had been for the past few weeks. "You are _not_ okay, Neal. We have been trying to work through this on our own, but you have completely shut us out. You wont admit that something is wrong, when there clearly is a problem. Please, Honey, we want to help you, and hopefully this will bring us all closer together. You know you're like our son, Neal; and we didn't want you to go through therapy alone. This seemed like the best option. Besides," She slid a glance at Peter, very pointedly, enough to make Peter cross his arms defensively. "Peter needs some help dealing with 'emotions and stuff'."

Despite how betrayed Neal felt, he could not prevent the small smile at the edge of his lips. Thinking of Peter and emotions in the same sentence was definitely a mind bender. He turned his attention back to the doctor, though, when he heard her sit across from all of them. _Great_, Neal thought. _She's settling in. Must be time for our first session._

* * *

**Yes! All of you who guessed that 'Sally' was a doctor were correct. She is my very own OC. :) She is an important part of this story, for she is the one that will put our Neal back together. :') Lots of angst in this story, so fasten your seat belts. It's going to be a bumpy ride. :) **

**I do enjoy taking prompts, and I don't bite, so don't be afraid to throw something out there for me to take a gander at. :) **

**Let me know what you think! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Those Haunts That Linger: Chapter 4

**Time for our 'first session'. I know nothing about therapy or psychology, so I am just going off of what I have heard in cop shows and my own ideas and thoughts about such situations. (Mostly the latter, so don't hurt me please if you think it is completely wrong. :( ) Also, I can't really add, so just accept the age I say. Please.**

**Please enjoy. And you know I love to hear from you. :)**

**WARNINGS: Please see chapters one and two for the warnings.**

**PS! I don't own anything other than the plot! This is meant for reading not suing!**

**The First Difficulty **

Peter felt like he was sweating bullets. He had a feeling Neal would not be happy about their 'little surprise', but he was not prepared for the intense waves of hatred pouring off of his son as he sat on his other side. Neal seemed determined to not make any physical contact with either of them, despite how close both El and Peter sat to him. Dr. Jenkins pulled out a legal pad and a pen and smiled at him. He didn't smile back.

"Ok, I want to start by letting you know how this is going to work. I want to get to know you. I can't help you unless you let me, so to start I will just ask you basic introductory questions. I specifically asked Peter and El not to tell me anything more than your name and why they asked for me, because I want _you_ to tell me about you. As we progress past that, I will start asking harder questions, that you may not want to answer. You can say as little or as much as you want; I will listen. Just keep in mind that if you don't talk to me, there is not much that I can do. There is no judgement here. Know that everyone in this room is dedicated to your well-being, and those beside you care deeply for you. If you want to talk to me about something privately, that can be arranged. And that goes for you two as well, Peter and Elizabeth. If you want a session to stop, I will pack up my things and leave, but only if I deem it will not do more harm than good to stop. But...Neal, I can already tell that this is going to be hard for you; a lot harder than most things you are asked to do. I will ask you to think it through, before you make the decision to end these sessions. Alright? May I begin?"

Neal didn't know what to say, but found himself waving his arms in invitation for her to begin. He knew he was acting like a petulant child, and had to resist the urge to add, 'Like I could stop you.'_ How hard could it be? A few questions. Some partial truths, and there you go. A plus and goodbye head doctor._ El laid a comforting hand on his knee and gave it a squeeze. Unfortunately, he could not stop his reaction of tensing every muscle in his body. It obviously did not go unnoticed by _anyone_, but it did go unmentioned, for which he was eternally grateful. He didn't think he could try to explain his reaction without breaking down at seeing the hurt that would no doubt cross his pseudo-mom's face.

"Alright, how about an easy one. How old are you?" His eyebrows shot up. _Shouldn't she already know that? El and Peter had to have given her at least what they think it is_. So, to be perfectly honest, it wasn't an easy question. What they think is true, or what actually is true? Would it hurt them to know I lied? The answer: probably. Neal sighed heavily, in his head, of course._ But it would hurt them worse, and make these damn sessions stretch out if I lied about the first question._ Apparently he was taking too long on such a simple question.

"Neal, just answer the question please. It's not that hard." Peter was getting impatient, and if Neal had to guess Peter hadn't jumped at the chance to bring a therapist into the mix. The con braced himself.

"I'm...twenty six." Neal didn't bother looking when Peter's head whipped in his direction.

"What? No...you're thirty one. I _caught_ you when you were twenty six. That's...No." Neal sighed, and felt a stupid urge to roll his eyes. Like that would be a smart idea. His head was already pounding from not getting enough sleep and from this lovely surprise.

"Yes, Peter. It's true. I was...considerably younger when you started chasing me." He could have sworn that Peter scooted ever so slightly away from him, but he paid it little mind with a spiteful, _You're the ones that brought the shrink in to play twenty questions_ ringing in his head. He was too tired for all of this. Neal flashed the doctor a cheeky grin.

"Well that was fun. What next?" Dr. Jenkins raised a brow at him and then wrote something on her legal pad. Neal again fought the urge to roll his eyes. Just go with it._ Faster you appease them, faster they go away._

"I'm making a note to come back to why you were, apparently, lying about your age; so don't think you're getting out of that one. So, did you have any pets growing up?" Random, but easier than the last one, apparently.

"Nope. Though there was a bird that had a nest near my window. I think I named him Joey." Neal sounded like he was poking fun at all of it, but he was telling the truth. Dr. Jenkins smirked at how he was playing the game. More notes were scribbled.

"Did you have any imaginary friends, or were you closest to Joey?" Neal cocked his head to the side in a way that made the Burkes give him matching disapproving looks at his antics.

"Hmmmmm...no. I never had one when my parents were alive, and when..." _Breathe. It's not that hard. Hell, all you have to say is Frank! Do it, coward!_ "When I lived with Frank, there wasn't a point in having one." _These simple questions are harder than I thought. I mean, what the hell_! This time he wasn't able to hold in a yawn that he had been battling since he showed up at the Burkes's home for breakfast. El laid a hand on his arm, gently and in plain view, Neal noted. Dr. Jenkins pursed her lips at Neal's yawn and scribbled more.

"Have you been sleeping well, Neal?" The question was to be expected, and as usual Neal had thought ahead on this one.

"More or less. I just started getting back to work, and I've been trying really hard to catch back up on everything I miss. Lately I've been losing track of time, and I just haven't been getting to bed as early as I normally do. And, ya know...last night was a little stressful, getting a phone call from Peter saying we had to talk. Things like that keep someone up at night." That was such a blatant lie that the therapist gave him a look that could break glass.

"Like I said earlier, Neal. I can't help you, if you won't let me. You may not want me here right now, but I would appreciate a bit more respect for my intelligence if you are trying to lie to me. At least come up with something better." Neal was a bit miffed by that, but remained polite if silent. It was, as of this moment, none of her business of what keeps him from sleep every night. When he obviously wasn't going to answer with something that sounded relatively more like the truth, the doctor sighed.

"Alright, Neal. Obviously you're very tired, and this whole thing was sprung on you, so I'll end this session here. I want to meet with you everyday for two to three hours, or more if you need it. There is a lot that needs to be discussed. We can't keep telling you something is wrong, if you don't see it for yourself. So, get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow. El, Peter, could you walk me to the door please?" Neal knew full well that she was going to talk about him, and he didn't particularly want to hear what she had to say. So, to distract himself he went to clear the table and wash the dishes, hoping to take some anger out on the suds.

* * *

Peter was at a loss for words. He knew this was going to be a challenging process, but he didn't actually expect Neal to fight them every step of the way. It was only the first session, and they found out he had been lying to them about his age. This was like opening up a can of worms and realizing that each worm had five more cans attached to it. Same slimy, sick feeling to it as well. When they were sufficiently gathered at the door, the doctor let out a sigh.

"I'm not gonna lie. This is going to be harder than I thought, but I need you two to _not_ push him. There is a time and a place for it, and I will determine when and where during our sessions, and it will most likely be during our sessions. I know this is difficult, and you might get angry, but try to reign that in. He is really going to need you, and if you get mad at him or snap, he will most likely blame himself and think he has lost you. So, I repeat. You can talk to him about the sessions, but _do not_ press him. That will sink this ship faster than you can say '_Titanic_'. I'll see you both tomorrow. Same time. Bye." And like that she was gone. _Very efficient_, Peter thought.

The two left standing looked at each other, both at a loss. Peter took a deep breath to say something, but it fell flat. So they looked to the kitchen, then at each other and shrugged.

"Standing here isn't helping. Let's just..." El nodded and grabbed his hand.

"Get this over with." They slowly made their way into the kitchen, where Neal was. He was standing at the sink, water running and eyes fixed determinedly on the plate in his hands. However, he had been washing that same plate for five minutes now, and it was as clean as it was when he washed it in ten seconds.

"Neal?" The hands holding the plate tightened to a death grip, before the young man took a few deep breaths and gingerly set the plate down on the counter.

"Yes, Elizabeth?" His back was as tight as a bow string, even as he tried to pass off a calm manner. The Burkes thought that Neal was mad at them. They wouldn't be wrong, but that was certainly not all of it. Neal was mad that the Burkes had called in a shrink to deal with him. Neal was also mad that he obviously couldn't handle whatever they thought was wrong with him, causing his pseudo-parents to worry about him. He was too much of a burden for them to handle, so they had to call in reinforcements. That was why he was upset, and he _really_ didn't want to talk about it right then.

"Will you please talk to us? What do you think about this arrangement?" Had it been anyone else, _anyone else_, Neal would have walked out and never looked back. He would never let them near his past; he avoided it at all costs. It brought up to much of Matthew, and cut right through Neal. No. He needed to be Neal. He couldn't be Matthew. He couldn't. But- it wasn't _anyone else._ It was Elizabeth. It was Peter. The two people in the world he trusted completely, and let have just a peek at the man behind the curtain. And...he knew he was hurting them; he just didn't know how not to. It had always been his curse: to hurt the people he cared about the most. It was his own personal plague, and it infected anyone that got too close. After all the hurt he had caused, the least he could do for them was this right?

"I- I'm sorry that you felt the need to call in a therapist. If you want us to have sessions with her, I will. I can't promise that I will be anywhere near forthcoming, but I'll at least be there to try." That got their shoulders to unwind a bit.

"That's all we ask, Neal. But we don't want you to do it for us. We want you to do it for _you_. So you can get better. We promise to be here every step of the way, because you are our son now. Nothing you can say or do will change that." Neal let them wrap him in their arms. They needed it. It was for them. So he would do it. For them.

* * *

**So, not sounding like I totally made all of that up? Hope this was sufficient. :) Let me know. :)**

**I do enjoy taking prompts, and I don't bite, so don't be afraid to throw something out there for me to take a gander at. :)**

**PS- A Harry Potter abuse reveal fic attacked me from behind, and forced me to start writing. If any of you are interested in that, check my profile in a couple weeks. It won't be really long, but a decent size. I want to hear from ya!**


	5. Chapter 5

Those Haunts That Linger: Chapter 5

**Thank you to all who reviewed, and to whoever (sorry I have a hard time remembering usernames) said they thought the age twist works with these kinds of WC stories I agree. It just makes more sense to me for Neal to be younger. Anyway trying to finish this update fast as I can because I don't trust my computer to not freeze on me or crash.**

**Please enjoy. And you know I love to hear from you. :)**

**WARNINGS: Please see chapters one and two for the warnings.**

**Also this chapter is a tiny bit graphic at the end, so tread carefully.**

**PS! I don't own anything other than the plot! This is meant for reading not suing!**

**Aftershocks**

The Burkes figured it would be a good idea for Neal to stay with them for the entire two weeks off. So, Peter drove him back to June's place, and Neal packed a small bag, not bothering with any suits, and shoved his current sketch pad and pencils and two fresh pads of paper. With the rate his nightmares came, he would be in need of those two new pads pretty soon.

The car rides to and from were kind of awkward, but especially awkward when Peter tried to make them not awkward. Well, it's the thought that counts. Neal finally felt like he was able to breathe when they got back to the house. He went upstairs and got changed into something a bit more comfortable. Neal thought about going straight to sleep, as just looking at the bed gave him a deep longing for rest, but then he was being called down stairs.

"Neal, could you come down here please?" The young man sighed and ran a hand through his thick curls.

"Yeah, be right down." He cast one more wistful glance at the bed, then made his way into the living room. The Burkes were next to each other on the couch, yet looking a little uncomfortable. As Neal shuffled into the room, however, he found himself being yanked down and shoved right in between them. He felt like a con sandwich.

"Uh...hi?" El had laid her head on his shoulder and scrunched up into his side. Peter wrapped an arm protectively around his back and ran his fingers gently through Neal's curls. Said young man felt suddenly very overwhelmed and uncomfortable (and for some reason like a stuffed animal being pawed at by two tired cats). His tense muscles were just starting to ache, when Peter finally broke the silence. He stopped stroking his son's head and asked his question without even looking at him, trying to make it all as casual as possible.

"Why would you lie about that, Neal? To us?" His tone wasn't accusatory, merely curious. A little bit of hurt leaked through, but it was understandable. How was he going to answer this? What could he say that would make them understand?

"It...made it easier?" His shrug was hindered a bit by the bodies binding him, and it was obvious the answer wasn't satisfactory. What more could he say though?

"Easier?" El's voice was just as soft as Peter's, leading Neal to wonder if they rehearsed this, or if it was just a married couple thing. However, digging into all of this was the last thing he wanted. But...he wanted to scream in frustration! He felt a strong urge to tell them everything he was feeling, but then that voice would come back. Every time! _They won't want you, if they know. Who would? You'll be all alone. You'll be everything he ever said you were. You'll prove him right._ The voice was really loud- and yet...he felt like just this once he could push it back a little.

"Y-yeah. I was trying to be Neal. I couldn't be Matty anymore, so I needed to be Neal. And Neal was older. It's easier to do things, if you're older." It made so much sense in his head, that he almost added a 'Duh' onto the end of the sentence. He restrained himself though. He was a grown man; there was no need for him to act like an insolent teenager. He had had enough of not acting his age, thank you very much. The response he received was...unexpected.

"Okay, Buddy. Okay." What unnerved the FBI agent the most was how childish the answer seemed. Maybe he should talk to the doctor about it. Peter's hand resumed its petting, as though soothing a frightened kitten. It wasn't until El started to gently rub a hand up and down his arm that he realized how applicable the analogy was. He was shaking like a leaf. And like that, it was glossed over, not mentioned again for the rest of the night. His 'parents' didn't even talk to him about their little 'session' from earlier in the day. They stayed surrounding him in their no longer suffocating proximity, until Neal started to drift off. He soon found himself in his 'official guest bedroom', neatly tucked under the covers. As his mind was drifting off to a possibly frightening state of sleep, he did not notice the two gentle kisses to his forehead, but for the first time in a long while, he wasn't afraid to close his eyes.

* * *

Peter sighed again then checked the clock. _Five minutes_. It had only been five minutes, since he had last checked the time. Two in the morning was long gone. At this point Peter might as well wait for the sunrise.

"Hey, hon?" The response was immediate.

"Yeah?" El rolled over onto her side and grabbed his hand. She was wide awake and had been for a while.

"You can't sleep either?" She scooted closer to him and laid her head on his chest.

"No. I worry about him. We kinda just...ambushed him. Every question was like a battle for him. I'm...I'm starting to doubt whether this was such a good idea or not." Peter had to admit that he was thinking the same thing. But at the same time, maybe the little battles were good. They were gently pulling Neal out from behind his walls. They were doing this to help him heal.

"No. No, I think this was a good idea. He needed help that we couldn't give him, and you and I both know how bringing him to a shrink's office would go. He would have fought us every step of the way. At least this way, he gets help, has his family there with him, and he's somewhere he's comfortable. I think this might have been the best thing we could have done for our son." Peter felt a wet spot form on his sleep shirt and lifted his hand to stroke his wife's hair.

"I just hate this. He's _our_ son. We should be able to help him. Instead, we call in a complete stranger and force him to open up. I know he needs it. I know this is a good thing. I know that. I just- I can't _stand_ seeing him hurt."

"I know, Hun. I know. We'll all get through this." His time with Neal when he stayed over during the whole 'Frank incident', as they referred to it now, at least made him a bit more able to deal with crying. Peter eventually felt the wet spot stop growing, and El's hands had loosened their grip on him, but the whimpers didn't die down.

"It's okay, El. It will all work out. Just...deep breathes." El did take a deep breathe, and then hugged into his side. He felt her about to speak, then she stilled.

"Peter... that's not me." Peter froze and the couple gripped each other tight and held their breathe. As if whatever it was knew they were listening, the sounds stopped. Then they heard the door to the guest bedroom open and the hall bathroom became occupied with sounds of violent retching.

"You go to him, Peter. I'll grab a cool cloth and a glass of water." They broke apart and went to work. As El went down the stairs, Peter crept up to the bathroom door, suddenly nervous. He finally forced _himself_ to 'cowboy up' and gently knocked.

"Neal? You okay, buddy?" The young man spit into the toilet bowl and lifted his head enough to be heard.

"Yeah...just not, not feeling too great...right now. S-sorry for wakin' you," came the croaky reply. Peter sighed low enough that his son didn't hear, then cautiously pushed his way into the bathroom. Neal looked...well, he looked like crap. His skin was three shades past pale and covered in cold sweat. His hair was either sticking to his forehead or in some other gravity defying position. The toilet seat practically cried out for help, as the young man's hands gripped it so hard, Peter was waiting for it to crack. His body was racked with cramping stomach muscles and violent trembling. The worst part, though, was his eyes. The normally vibrant blue had run away, leaving a dull, terrified, lifeless gray behind. Neal's eyes looked like they had a million secrets, all of which were pressing to the surface and all of which the con desperately pushed back. But, Peter ignored all of that, when Neal's head ended up back in the toilet bowl. The agent stepped forward to crouch next to his son. He rubbed slow circles on his back, and continued even as El came in and took over.

"Neal, can you pull your head up for a moment please?" Neal forwent nodding and simply lifted his head. He was met with a deliciously cool cloth, and when he opened his eyes he stared greedily at the glass of water El held.

"Drink this, Sweetie. Slowly." Once he had it in his hand, she turned away. "We should have some Pepto around here somewhere." Neal scowled. He hated that vile pink sludge.

"You know, I am feeling a _lot_ better. I think I'll just head back to bed." Peter chuckled lightly despite his exhaustion and his son's obvious discomfort.

"It'll help, Bud. How can you go back to sleep if you feel like you're going to hurl every five minutes?" Neal pulled away gingerly and sat up fully.

"Look. It was nothing. I just wasn't feeling well. I'm fine now. You guys should go back to bed. No offense, but you look like you could use some sleep." El and Peter both gave him that, 'Look who's talkin' look, but Neal refused to be fazed. Sure the bags under his eyes screamed sleep deprived, but it wasn't him he was worried about. In fact, he cared more about their well-being than his own. This was obvious by his insisting he is fine, while his whole body shakes and sweats. Something in his expression must have reached their understanding eyes, because Peter and El finally sighed and looked between each other.

"Neal, neither of us have slept tonight, and us falling asleep is not going to happen any time soon. So, since we're all up, and you _insist_ that you are fine, why don't we all head downstairs?" Neal looked between them suspiciously, before nodding. The Burkes made no secret out of fussing over him. He was gently guided down the stairs (which was completely unnecessary; his legs were only shaking a little bit), then prodded into arguably the best spot on the couch (right in the corner), and wrapped in a blanket. Neal would have rolled his eyes if it had been anyone but the Burkes (and if it didn't feel a bit nice to be fussed over). So, this was all well and good, but the real reason for his nausea was still flashing in front of his eyes. Typically he would already be back in bed and have a hold of his sketch book and pencils. But, obviously, he could not do such a thing now. He decided to just wait them out.

It was about three thirty when he got his chance. Peter and El settled on either side of him, a bucket placed conspicuously on the floor right in front of him. Having their son between them had calmed them enough for them to completely pass out. That worked out well for Neal as he pulled himself out of their unconscious holds and crept back to his room. He let out a sigh of relief when he got hold of his sketch book. Checking the clock, he figured he had a few hours before his 'parents' woke up.

Those hours were spent replicating a horrid image from his mind onto the paper. It was one of many, and he knew that he could never show them to anyone. His stomach churned whenever he looked at them, but he could never get through the day unless he got them out of his head and down in pencil. This specific scene was worse than the more recent ones. _Any guesses as to why that might be 'Dr. I can only help you if you let me'?_ (His brain got bitter and sarcastic at certain hours in the morning.)

The page was nearly blackened with the amount of graphite dug into it. Front and center was taken up by a totaled car. Its entire left side was caved in and glass reflected from its landing site on the road. Elizabeth was in the passengers seat and...that was the main reason Neal had run to the bathroom. She was...completely crushed, barely recognizable. Beside her, head laying heavy on the horn, was Peter. His eyes were wide open, staring at El, and blood covered the entire left side of his face. Neal knew for a fact that despite the non-moving nature of the drawing, his chest was not rising or falling. All of that created a horrific scene, yes, but there was more in the background that an observer might not take immediate notice of.

A large truck was parked behind the scene of the accident. Its front fender only had a bit of a dent to it, and the owner would only have to buff out the scratches. It was nearly unscathed, as was the driver. The driver's graphite curls mimicked Neal's own and a gross smile, one that had never before been found on Neal's face, could be seen pulling at the lips of the figure. However, it wasn't Frank. No. That would make more sense, but it wasn't Frank. Neal felt a strong urge to stab his visage with his pencil, blacking out the face and ripping the picture to shreds. But he...couldn't. His hands shook at the thought of getting rid of it, for he knew if he did, the dream would just return night after night after night. He couldn't risk it, so he didn't.

He finally set the pencil down and stretched his fingers out. It was a wonder to him sometimes, that his hand hadn't just gone on strike and refused to work. The clock on his night stand read six thirty, so he figured that now was a good a time as any to get the coffee going. Besides, Dr. Jenkins was due to show up at ten thirty, and they all needed to at least look like they had used night time for what it was meant for. However, Neal had a feeling that the doctor would notice their matching sets of purple half-moons.

* * *

**What do you think? **

**I do enjoy taking prompts, and I don't bite, so don't be afraid to throw something out there for me to take a gander at. :)**

**PS- A Harry Potter abuse reveal fic attacked me from behind, and forced me to start writing. If any of you are interested in that, check my profile in a couple weeks. It won't be really long, but a decent size. I want to hear from ya!**


	6. Chapter 6

Those Haunts That Linger: Chapter 6

**Okay, this chapter might seem like Neal is changing all of the sudden for no reason, but I'm just trying to show that everything is starting to catch up to him and making him change tactics. But like always, his plans tend to get out of his control.**

**Please enjoy. And you know I love to hear from you. :)**

**WARNINGS: Please see chapters one and two for the warnings.**

**PS! I don't own anything other than the plot! This is meant for reading not suing!**

**Starting to Give In**

Peter and El groggily sat up when the scent of coffee drifted through the air. The spot between them had been long cold, and El frowned at that. They stretched out all of the kinks from sleeping in such awkward positions, but before they got up, Neal came in bearing two mugs.

"Ah! Don't move. I'm bringing the coffee to you." El quirked her lip at that, while Peter just blindly drank down half of the mug's contents. Neal disappeared for another moment before returning with his own mug. He plopped down in a chair across from them, with a grace earned from years of sneaking around museums and galleries, and crossed his legs on the chair. He brought his mug up to his mouth using both hands. El cocked her head to the side as she watched him. It was almost childlike. Then she noticed the slight tremble to her boy's fingers.

"Neal, Sweetie, how long have you been up?" He just shrugged and drank some more.

"Not too long. This is my third cup of coffee though. I was a little surprised when neither of you guys woke up when I first started brewing it up. But you guys were understandably exhausted." He stopped his rapid speech to glance at the clock. He seemed to tense ever so slightly.

"Well. If you didn't wake up soon, I would have been forced to have Satchmo lick your faces until you did. The _doctor_ should be here in thirty minutes." The Burkes were up and awake in seconds. Neal smirked when he heard the bedroom door slam as they raced to get dressed and or showered. The young man calmly made his way to his own room to get out of his pajamas. He selected a simple pair of jeans and plain blue long sleeve shirt. Neal usually avoided jeans, because they always made him look younger. And for someone trying to convince people that he was about five years older, that didn't work. By the time both Peter and Elizabeth were back downstairs and presentable, Neal was back in his Indian style position on the chair.

Peter was taken back at how young his son looked now. He looked closely at him._ Oh. He's wearing jeans. That's new._ He was surprised at how young the clothing really did make Neal look. Well, the fact that he was sitting like a five year old didn't help.

"How are you looking forward to this, Bud?" He knew that his son was only doing this for them, but he could hope that as they progressed Neal would see it as something for _himself_.

"Not really. Dr. Jenkins is a nice lady and all, but I've never been a fan of shrinks." Another sip, another false carefree smile. Peter sighed internally.

At exactly ten thirty, there was a knock at the door, and Neal got up to put his mug in the kitchen sink. El answered the door and ushered the doctor in. Once everyone was seated, Peter and El and Neal on the couch with Neal squished in the middle and Dr. Jenkins in a separate chair, the psychologist pulled out her legal pad from the day before and settled in.

"So, Neal, from looks of it you didn't get much sleep. Do you want to start with that?" Neal held in a scoff. Just thinking of talking about his 'feelings' turned him into a grumpy teenager. Deciding this wouldn't go any faster unless he answered, he shrugged and gave a noncommital grunt.

"Why not? You showing up threw me off. Couldn't stop thinking about it, so I didn't get much sleep. Then I didn't feel well, and got sick in the bathroom. Woke Peter and El up, then we went downstairs and all passed out on the couch." The perfect lies always held grains of truth. The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Do you know why you didn't feel well? It sounded like it came up pretty suddenly. And I can also tell that you didn't wake them up, Neal. They obviously didn't get any sleep either." Peter and El nodded easily. It wasn't unusual to make such a big decision and lose sleep over it. However, they knew that was not the case with Neal. The only problem was getting him to admit it.

"I just...I don't know. I guess I got overwhelmed a bit with all of my thoughts running around. That happens sometimes. I'll admit that getting sick isn't a...usual reaction, but it's not unheard of." Dr. Jenkins nodded.

"That is correct. Sometimes thinking about a big change or being really nervous can cause one to become nauseous, but from what I understand things like that don't really faze you that much, Mr. Caffrey. Tell me, Neal. Do you experience nightmares?" This was getting a little too close for comfort.

"Well, maybe I had a couple not long after the...incident, but it was nothing to be worried about." More notes. Neal couldn't keep his eyes off of the pen, trying to figure out what she was writing.

"It _was_. How about now? Did you have a nightmare last night?" Neal debated. This was hard. His whole life had been lie after lie, to save his skin or get a score. Truth was dangerous. It hurt the most.

"I don't see how that is your business." El sent him a reproaching look. He was acting like a brat. Again. It seemed to be his default. What surprised him was when Dr. Jenkins sent a rebuking look at _El_. Then she turned her attention back to Neal.

"You're right. Technically, none of this is my business. To you I am just a stranger that asks too many questions with answers that I don't need to know. But, Neal, what you have to understand is...I sincerely _want_ to help you. I can see that you are hurting. El and Peter can see that. That is why I was called in, because people care about you. You face no judgement here. So, please." Neal bit the inside of his cheek in thought. He knew all of these things. That didn't make it any easier. But...maybe he could give a little. He had never had people who really cared about him since his parents died. This was all new territory, and he didn't have a map.  
So he did what he could. He nodded.

"Okay. Yes. I did have a nightmare last night." Dr. Jenkins smiled. _Smiled_. She was happy about this?

"Thank you for telling me that, Neal." There was a hand on his shoulder, and Neal glanced to see Peter laying his on him in support. "Now. This may be hard, but can you tell me about the nightmare you had last night? Talking about it usually helps." Neal held in a scoff. _Well, of course that would be your answer to all problems under the sun_. This was not going to be dropped, and he was wary of what other topics the doctor wanted to hash out. So he did what he did best. He brought on the Caffrey powers of misleading. Hunching his shoulders slightly and letting his voice shake a little along with his hands, he decided to recount a much less intense dream that he had had frequently years ago.

"Well, uh, o-okay. Um..." He felt a supporting hand on his other shoulder coming from Elizabeth, and she gave him a smile when he turned to her. He took a deep breath and started.

"It's usually the same one. I always start out in a house. It's dark and my hands are tied to a radiator. I hear someone coming, so I pull and bite at the ropes. It feels like forever before the ropes come off. Then I run. I run until I reach the front door, even though I have no idea where I am or how I know where to go." Neal paused to take a breath. He really hadn't thought about that one in years. His hands started to tremble minutely, and he cursed himself for being so stupid. It was just a dream. Before the doctor could take the opportunity to inject a question, Neal hurried on.

"When I step out of the door, I am in a city. It's like I know exactly where to go as I run down the sidewalk. There are a lot of other people walking around me, but they don't even look at me, even though I know I must look crazy, beat up, bleeding and running down a busy city sidewalk. I finally see a building up ahead, and I know if I just get there, I will be safe. But...as, as I run past an alley, something reaches out a grabs me. Pulls me back. The building gets farther away, and I- I can't-I can't get the hands off of me." His breathing was ragged and his hands, he found, we clutching tight to Peter's arm. The man didn't seem to mind, though Neal let go as soon as he saw a slight wince come from his 'father', suddenly feeling embarrassed for getting too involved in his little 'display', Neal didn't look up at the doctor as he finished.

"Then I finally get pulled all the way into the dark alley to where I can't see. That's, that's when I wake up." Neal was no longer feeling well. In fact, he rushed into the kitchen and lost his coffee and stomach acid into the sink. Thoughts flew about in his head as it hung in the sink. He has never had a weak stomach; the only thing that ever really sets it off is a severe illness or an all consuming fear. Nightmares happily placed themselves in the latter category. It's not long before he feels comforting hands on his back as before.

"Neal, deep breaths. Just breath in and out. You are fine." Neal felt a very strong urge to pull away and fix himself as he realized it was the doctor behind him and not El. Instead, he just quickly righted himself and cleaned up without looking at her. Then, he turned and settled back on the couch as though nothing had happened. He coughed into the silence.

"Sorry about that." Neal began to check on his fingernails, count the swirls in the wood, pick at his rarely worn jeans.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Neal. Do most of your nightmares end in a similar fashion?" Neal shook his head.

"Not all of them, but...recently they've...gotten worse." At first he berated himself for admitting to that. But then, a plan started to form in Neal's head. If he dealt with his nightmares, that would satisfy the doctor, he could get some _sleep_, and things could go back to normal. That last step might take a little more work, but still, it seemed like a decent plan. All of these emotions and things were just a result of a lack of sleep. Yeah. That makes sense. It would all go back to normal. Yeah. Normal.

"Worse how?" The doctor's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. _Focus_.

"Darker. More intense. Blood." How else could he describe them? In the end that was the gist of it. That was what they came down to. Nothing but dark images conjured up by his subconscious to mess with him. Must be some vindictive thing Frank managed to cook up. _What? Man, I really need sleep, if that's what's making sense._

"Neal?" Right! Eyes up. Contact. "I think it would be a good idea for you to start keeping a dream journal. As soon as you wake up from a nightmare, I want you to write it down in to a journal. Everything that happens. You thoughts, feelings, fears. Just pour it all into words, so they will escape from your head." Neal began to wring his hands. This next bit could either make or break it.

"Actually...I kind of already...do...something like that." Dr. Jenkins's eyebrows rose ever so slightly.

"Really? Could I see it?" His palms were getting a little sweaty, but he didn't know why he was so nervous. He was just showing a complete stranger his innermost demons and fears captured in graphite. Nothing to be worried about. However, he nodded and slowly walked up to his room to get his sketch book. Neal left his hand to hover over his most recent sketchbook, and then decided against it. He would bring down one of his older books, from when the nightmares hadn't gotten so dark and violent.

As he flipped briefly through the pages, he was surprised at how innocent they seemed compared to his current repertoire. Mostly it was just, shadowy figures in doorways, and haunting voices that still echoed around in his skull during sleep. In the last few sketches you can see the turn towards violence, with blood pools on the ground and splatter on the walls. He had to shut the book before he repeated his little episode from downstairs. Realizing he had gotten lost in thought, he quickly grabbed it and headed back down the stairs to find El near to tears and Peter looking livid.

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**Had to bring the dream sketches in soon. What do you think? **

**I do enjoy taking prompts, and I don't bite, so don't be afraid to throw something out there for me to take a gander at. :)**

**PS- My Harry Potter abuse reveal fic is up and ready for you to take a peek at. :) Let me know what you think. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

Those Haunts That Linger: Chapter 7

**This chapter will be a lot shorter than the previous ones, because I haven't written as much as I thought and haven't had time or been in the mood to work on it. But I am now! I promise! **

**Please enjoy. And you know I love to hear from you. :)**

**WARNINGS: Please see chapters one and two for the warnings.**

**PS! I don't own anything other than the plot! This is meant for reading not suing!**

**Slipping Backwards**

As their son seemed to warily climb the stairs, the Burkes turned to the doctor.

"That was what happened last night, wasn't it? He had a nightmare that made him sick." The doctor nodded.

"That seems to be the most probable scenario. However I am...worried. His dreams are obviously bad enough to make him physically ill. That combined with how little sleep he is getting will only make him more sick and tired throughout the day. I think the dreams are the first hurdle we are going to have to deal with. And I want to warn you now. The first one is always the hardest." El couldn't stop the rush of sadness that came over her. Her baby was so scared, and they didn't know. The worst part was that he couldn't, or wouldn't, see that he was hurting and needed help. A tear or two slipped down her cheeks, before she wiped them away. Peter had been quite for the most part, just letting everything sink in. He was frustrated, pissed, _livid_. His son was in pain. It physically hurt to see him like that, knowing that there really wasn't much that he could do. Except wait and be there for when the dam breaks. He dreaded that time, but knew it needed to come for Neal to be able to heal.

"Is there _anything_ we can do?" He was an FBI agent dammit. He needed to do something. The doctor was quick to reassure him though.

"Yes. You can be there for him. Trust me. Getting help was a smart choice on your part, but it was even better that you decided to stay with him. He needs that. He needs you here. I think a large part of all of _this_ is that he fears that if he admits to something being wrong, you won't want to be a part of his life anymore. Neal is afraid he could lose you, for saying the wrong thing." Peter clenched his eyes shut.

"But we would _never_- He is our son. We would not abandon him, or throw him out. No matter what." Dr. Jenkins nodded.

"Again, yes. I know that. You know that. But with Neal's family views and views of himself so skewed and twisted because of Frank, he just can't see that right now. He knows that you care for him, but his mind keeps asking how long before that runs out? How long before he takes that wrong step, and it all goes away? He loves you too much to risk making such a mistake. What he sees right now is that you are hurting, and that by going along with these therapy sessions, he can make you happy. So that is what he is doing. Trying to make _you_ happy. What you have to do, Peter, El, is show him that he will never lose you. That you won't walk out as soon as things get hard. That you will love him, faults, hurts, fears, emotional outbursts and all." Peter gripped El's hand and held on tight. He could do this. _They would do this_. For Neal.

Feet on the stairs alerted them to Neal's return. He had obviously seen their faces, because he immediately tensed and grew wary.

"Should I-do you want me to...?" He gestured back up the stairs with his free hand.

"No, Neal. I'm sorry. We were talking and...we're not upset with you, Son. Please come here." Neal did, slowly. He sunk back into his seat, letting Peter gingerly wrap an arm around his shoulders, then he seemed to hesitate before addressing the book in his lap. Neal even started to pick a the edges a bit, before laying it on the coffee table between them all.

"Neal, is that one of your sketch books?" El looks at him, a little confused as she begins to absent-mindedly rub a hand up and down his back. Neal was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable with all of the touching, but made himself endure it for their sake. _They need it. They need it. It's for them_. So he just nodded, while trying to imperceptibly shrink into himself a little bit.

"I-uh, when I have a nightmare...I needed to get them out of my head, and this was just lying around, so I figured...So, yeah. There are a lot of drawings in there." He nodded his consent, when the doctor silently asked for permission to look inside the pages.

Neal knew that psychologists especially were trained to control their facial expressions and emotions when going into an appointment. However, Neal was a con artist, and he was taught how to read people, especially when they are hiding something. The doctor wasn't doing herself any favors in this area, as she was personally involved with one of the clients. Given that crack in her armor, Neal could read her like an open book. She had smoothed out any expressions before she opened the sketchbook. That soon changed once she got a good look.

Her lips pursed ever so slightly, and there was a small furrowing of her brow. As she continued to flip through, her green eyes widened just enough to tell Neal that what she saw had gotten to her. It took her a while to get through all of the drawings, but she did. Once she was finished, she turned back to a drawing near the middle of the book. She leaned forward to return it to Neal.

"Neal, why don't you explain this one to me." The young man understood immediately why the doctor had picked the one that she did. Neal remembered that one distinctly.

"Um...okay. Well..." After setting the sketchbook down, he started to recount what he knew of that particular nightmare.

It had been about when he noticed his dreams taking a turn for the worse. Instead of merely bad memories and taunting slurs being flung at him, or him being bound and unable to escape, he was standing alone in a dark room. He couldn't see much but could still recognize it as his old bedroom. The scent of sweat and tears and...other things made him nauseous. Without even looking, he knew there was no way out. There never was. A door opened from somewhere behind him, and he whirled around in time to see a hulking figure taking up most of the doorway. The only thing recognizably human about it was the leering smile that stretched its face. Neal stopped remembering around that point. For one, he knew it was a bit too much for him to handle at the moment, for another there had been plenty of other dreams to push that one away.

"That's...all I can remember. Sorry." Dr. Jenkins shook her head.

"No, Neal. That's good. Thank you." The psychiatrist took a good look at her patient and decided it was time to end the session. But first she wanted to talk to Neal. Alone.

"Mr. And Mrs. Burke, may I talk to Neal privately for a moment?" She turned to give Neal a reassuring smile. "It won't take long." Peter and El looked to their son to see if he was okay with being left alone with the doctor. Neal almost rolled his eyes. _Great. Now they're too scared to leave me alone with anybody._ He nodded finally, and they went upstairs to put on something more comfortable to lounge about in.

"Is something wrong?" Neal couldn't think of any other reason the doc would want to speak with him privately. Hell, he probably broke some sacred therapy law already and was about to get chewed out for it.

"No, Neal. You didn't do anything wrong." Not what he asked, yet it answered his actual question. "I think that this is a much better way for you to deal with your nightmares than writing them in a journal. However,"_ Here it comes._ "I would like you to think about something. At our next session, I want to talk about what is bothering you the most from your very recent dreams. I know this is an old sketchbook, and from the near permanent dark circles under your eyes, I can tell that they have gotten progressively worse than these. So, next time we meet, I want you to be prepared to answer that question. Alright?" The young man nodded. He would have to think a lot to answer that one.

"And, Neal, Peter and El love you very much. They did this, because they want to help you. They don't like seeing you hurting. They didn't call me in, because you were too much of a problem for them, or they just couldn't take it anymore. They love you. Don't forget that. I'll see you tomorrow." And with that she left. Out the door without another word, leaving Neal curled up on the couch meditating on what she meant.

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**Again sorry for the length, or lack of it. Hopefully next chap will be longer. I am writing it right now as I am also updating, and it was supposed to be a simple little fluffy section...But you know me. It has turned into a major angst ridden turning point. O.o You'll just have to wait and see. ;)**

**I do enjoy taking prompts, and I don't bite, so don't be afraid to throw something out there for me to take a gander at. :)**

**PS- My Harry Potter abuse reveal fic is up and ready for you to take a peek at. :) Let me know what you think. :)**


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